


wait another year for dreams far away

by andfinallywearehome



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Asexual Raphael, College, Love Simon!AU, M/M, Pansexual Simon, also some background malec in there too, most things are pure and only like two things potentially hurt, pure soft people in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andfinallywearehome/pseuds/andfinallywearehome
Summary: “If it wasn’t a big deal, they wouldn’t have emailed in about it,” Alec says. “It’s scary, being alone and in the closet. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there.”“Yeah,” Simon says, an alternative to 'Yeah, me too'.[or: 'love, simon', the saphael edition]





	wait another year for dreams far away

**Author's Note:**

> 'Love, Simon' is my new favourite film, just saying. i needed a saphael version like i need air, i just wish i had more faith in my own work, lol.
> 
> title comes from the song Wild Heart by bleachers and i own nothing recognisable.

Simon likes to think that he’s pretty normal.

Yeah, he’s a bit of a comic book nerd, and can quote every line from every Nicholas Cage movie, but he’s lived in the same house with his mom and his sister since the age of seven, Clary has been his best friend since the day they met, and he’s a typical accounting student - no interest in the class itself, but taking it because he wants his mom to be happy. 

Everything in his life is ordinary. A-Okay. Nothing out of the mainstream norm.

Well, kind of.

 

\-- x --

  
“What do you think about this one?” Clary sips her iced coffee as she spins her laptop to face Simon in the seat opposite her. They’re sitting in the coffee place on campus, their usual hangout when they don’t have class; Simon is trying to concentrate on his latest assignment, but it’s mind-numbingly dull, and he’s grateful to have his best friend as a distraction.

Simon shakes his head at the headline printed at the top of her article for the campus newspaper. “Too much.”

“Well, what, then?” She huffs. “There aren’t exactly many ways I can make an article on teen drinking interesting.”

“Why do you even still work for that stupid paper, Fray?” Simon asks, but he never gets to hear the answer, because Clary is interrupted by the sudden arrival of Alec, who makes a bee line for their table.

“Guys.”

Simon nods in acknowledgement. “Alec.”

Clary doesn’t even bother with greeting him. “What’s your opinion on teen drinking?”

“Never mind that. Have you two seen this?” Alec dismisses her question with a wave of his hand, and then pushes his phone across the table for the two of them to see what is on the screen. It’s a comment from the advice column of the campus newspaper, the one that Alec’s boyfriend runs, and it’s not even an ask for advice. To Simon, it looks more like a release of someone’s pent up feelings.

_being stuck in the closet is so hard. people don’t understand it, the ongoing struggle, not really. you don’t understand this unless you’ve lived it. for me, sometimes it feels like being on a ferris wheel. one minute up in the air, the next down on the ground. the same thing, over and over again. because no one knows who i really am._

Clary lets out a low whistle. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“Who do you think it is?”

Alec pulls a face. “How should _I_ know?”

Clary pulls a face right back. “ _Your boyfriend_ runs the column. Aren’t you supposed to be our inside contact?”

“Does it really matter who it is?” Simon says, more to himself than anything else, but he has to elaborate when Alec and Clary both turn to him with questioning looks. “I mean, it’s just sexuality, right? It’s not like back in high school when everyone made a big deal about it.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, they wouldn’t have emailed in about it,” Alec says. “It’s scary, being alone and in the closet. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah,” Simon says, an alternative to _Yeah, me too._

 

\-- x --

 

Simon thinks about that comment a lot. 

It’s on his laptop, staring at him as he tries to finish this stupid assignment with the largest mug of coffee he can find in the house, taunting him to the point where he even closes the Word document he’s supposed to be looking at, and simply stares at the text until his eyes start to become unfocussed and the letters all blur together.

It’s not like he’d be doing anything wrong by reaching out to this person, right?

This oh, so helpful thought doesn’t stop him opening up a new email and going to the effort of creating a whole new email address, to make him completely untraceable, even if they could never find him, anyway. No one would be able to trace this back to Simon.

Still, what’s the point of having a name comprised of two first names if you can’t use them?

 _i_ _think_ _i’m_ _just_ _like_ _you_.  
 _-_ _lewis_.

He sends it before he can lose the nerve.

  
\-- x --

  
The stranger writes back.

Simon writes back.

The stranger writes back again.

  
\-- x --

  
Slowly, slowly, they start to form some kind of...something. Simon wouldn’t call it a relationship, but it feels like more than a friendship, because getting an email from a friend doesn’t make little butterflies appear in his stomach the way that getting an email from this person does. He could write songs about this all day.

They might not know each other’s identities, but Simon knows that the stranger is asexual, and has been aware of this since they were fourteen. He knows that they have a family with a single mom and siblings, just like Simon himself does, and the stranger loves them all so dearly, they _do_ , and yet they can’t find it in them to come out.

 _it’s_ _not_ _that_ _they_ _wouldn’t_ _understand_ , the stranger writes one morning, in an email that Simon is reading during his free period first thing on a Wednesday, and he finds himself nodding along with what he’s reading because he _gets_ it, _but_ _every_ _time_ _i_ _try_ _it’s_ _like_ _there_ _is_ _glass_ _stuck in my throat. i can’t even form the words. like i could choke on them if i tried to speak them._

Simon writes his own story in response - he’s pansexual, and he’s had an inkling of this since he was about thirteen, when he began to suspect that he didn’t feel things the same way as other people did, when his early teenage crushes hadn’t paid much attention to trivial things like gender. 

_i don’t think anyone in my life would care either_ , he writes back, _because if my friends didn’t care when a couple of us came out a few years ago, they wouldn’t care if it was me. but it’s like you said, the words just get stuck. i guess i still worry that they’ll start to see me differently or something. maybe i just don’t want anything to change._

He sends this. It’s only a few minutes later that he gets a response.

_it’s a good thing we’ve got each other, then._

Simon finds himself beaming as he types.

_it’s the best thing ever._

 

\-- x--

 

“You look happy,” Clary comments as he climbs into the back of Magnus’ car, sliding into the space beside her. It’s a welcome break in the middle of what appears to be a bickering match between their group’s resident married couple about what music they should have playing on their way to the party - Magnus wants one of his indie folk bands that no one else has ever heard of, Alec is having none of it - and Simon raises an eyebrow, albeit cheerfully.

“So? Can’t I be happy once in a while, Fray?”

“Not _this_ happy.” Her eyes drift down to the phone clutched tightly in his hand, and then drift back up to his face. “C’mon, Si, what is it?”

“Yeah.” Jace tries to sneak a look himself. “Is it a girl?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Simon protests, locking the screen before he can see anything, but that doesn’t stop him from smiling the entire journey.

  
\-- x --

  
Update: Simon should not go to any more parties.

  
\-- x --

  
Update #2: Simon should not be allowed to email his mysterious new LGBT slightly-more-than-friend from those parties.

  
\-- x --

  
Update #3: Simon checks his emails in the morning, squinting as he tries to see without his glasses through the headache that’s currently pounding away in his skull. He doesn’t remember a lot about what he’s been saying whilst under the influence, and now he’s seeing visual evidence, he’s not sure he _wants_ to remember (even if it’s true; he’s very sure that this pen pal of his has dazzling eyes, he’ll bet Jace’s very existence on it.)

_i’m so sorry about last night. i had way more shots than i could actually cope with._

It isn’t long before he gets a response back.

_it’s OK. it was kind of cute._

Simon’s fairly sure he’s blushing right now.

  
\-- x --

  
“I read your emails.”

Camille Belcourt doesn’t appear - on the surface, at least - to be very intimidating, but those four words are enough to nearly give Simon a heart attack.

“What?”

“You really should be more careful when you log in to things on a public computer,” she continues, and then smiles innocently at the look that is probably on his face right now. “Oh, don’t worry, caramel, I won’t tell anyone.”

“You won’t?” Simon asks, but he doesn’t have much faith in the answer.

“Of course not! Well -” her lip curls “- as long as you agree to help me, that it.”

_There it is._

Simon sighs heavily. She kind of has him backed into a corner here. “I’m listening.”

  
\-- x --

  
Correction: Camille Belcourt is very intimidating.

It’s worse than he could have imagined. In exchange for her _not_ leaking his private life all over the campus newspaper - she’s the editor in chief, she reminds him cheerfully, so it’s her call what goes in and what doesn’t - he essentially has to do whatever she asks of him. He’s being reduced to her lapdog, and for what?

He could always say no, of course, that’s definitely an option. It isn’t like any of his friends will ostracise him simply for being pansexual, not with Alec and Magnus around, and his mom has always said that she’ll love her children no matter what -

_And yet -_

Maybe, somewhere, a part of him wants to hang onto whoever he’s been for the past nineteen years of his life. A part of him wants to keep this... _something_...between his pen pal and he to himself. 

So he says yes.

  
\-- x --

  
“Why are you suddenly hanging out with Camille Belcourt all the time?” 

Jace is glaring at him over the top of his iced coffee, as Simon tries to beg a graceful exit from the movie plans Clary is trying to organising. He’s accidentally let it slip that Camille, having found out that he does music on the side, has asked him to help her learn her lines for the drama department showcase auditions at the end of the month. She’s a terrible actress, and a terrible singer too, but Simon isn’t ready to start telling her that, particularly when both of them have ulterior motives.

“Camille Belcourt?” Magnus repeats, looking up from whatever Alec is trying to show him on his laptop; it takes a lot to distract Magnus from his darling boyfriend, so Simon must have really screwed up this time. “Sidney, what on earth are you doing getting yourself involved with _Camille Belcourt?”_

“Don’t go down that road, Simon,” Alec chimes in, and then looks to Clary and Jace. “Seriously, if you guys heard the things Magnus has said about her -”

“What has she got on you?” Magnus continues, narrowing his eyes slightly in a way that makes Simon very uncomfortable. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worth whatever she’s trying to manipulate you into doing. Trust me on this.”

Simon thinks of Camille’s singing and nearly winces. For a moment, he’s almost convinced that Magnus is right.

“C’mon, man, just tell us what it is,” Jace says, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “You got some girl knocked up or something?”

Clary gasps in mock indignation. “And you didn’t tell me, Si?”

The rest of the group shares a chuckle at that, and Simon almost laughs too, because they couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“She hasn’t got anything on me. I just owed her a favour, that’s all.”

“A _favour_? Sidney -”

“I really have to go,” Simon interrupts, backing away from their table and trying to make his way towards the exit -

\- only to smack into someone coming in, texting on their phone.

Simon tries to fumble his way through an apology, but the dark haired guy only glares at him with narrowed dark eyes. 

He quickly makes his exit to the sound of Jace snorting as he watches from the other side of the room, and the angry sound of _idiota_ that follows him out of the coffee shop.

  
\-- x --

  
Simon has to sit through two out-of-key renditions of I Wanna Dance With Somebody before Camille escorts him to the nearby Starbucks. One thing he’s come to realise about her is that, _holy fuck_ , does she loves to pry - which must have been what Magnus was trying to warn him about - and, today, her topic of choice is Simon’s email contacts.

“Oh, come on,” she says, when it’s becoming clear that Simon isn’t going to tell her anything, “surely you must be wondering who your little pen pal is, caramel.”

Simon is very glad that he doesn’t cringe at that nickname.

“Not really,” he says, but it’s a blatant lie, and he’s pretty sure Camille knows it because, come on, who wouldn’t wonder about this? _Of course_ Simon wants to know who this stranger is, this anonymous person whom he’s pretty sure he has a bit of a crush on. Just because he doesn’t know their name doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know _them_. And it’s _them_ he likes.

  
\-- x --

  
It’s late at night, and Simon is camped out in the library. The campus library is usually packed during deadline season, especially at this time, and he’s found a quiet corner to hide in and get his report done for the following week.

He can’t really get that much done, however; right now, he’s staring at his phone (he’s not logging on to these stupid public computers again, not after last time) and trying to come up with a witty anecdote to send to his pen pal that might get a laugh out of them, whoever they are, wherever they are - or, at least, that’s what he’s aiming for, but the sound of someone repeatedly hitting the printer and swearing in Spanish is kind of distracting, especially when it’s directly behind you.

“Hey, buddy -” Simon eventually turns round, when the desk he’s sitting at is starting to vibrate with the abuse that the poor _impresora de mierda_ is suffering right now “- you mind keeping it down -?”

The student (or, alternatively, the whirlwind of angry Spanish) looks up - it’s the same guy from the coffee shop a few days ago; Simon remembers the dark, brooding eyes - and _the glare_ he gives him is enough to send Simon recoiling back into his seat.

“Or - or not. That’s cool too, I guess.”

  
\-- x --

  
Rom-com moments don’t happen to guys like Simon Lewis, and they certainly don’t happen twice in one day. 

Well, granted, the first time isn’t really a rom-com moment; he crashes into _that guy_ (Simon has taken to calling him Dark and Brooding in his head, after those stupid eyes that don’t seem to want to leave his thoughts) who yells _**dios** , you again?_ as Simon hurries past him with a rushed apology. Maybe this is his punishment for essentially signing his soul away to Camille; everywhere he turns, it seems, this guy is _there_.

Luckily, the second rom-com moment is much nicer, with less brooding and less of Simon embarrassing himself. He gets chatting to the barista on duty - Alec’s sister, Isabelle, whom he’s met a few times over the past year - and they bond over their mutual love for comic books and Marvel movies. Apparently, Isabelle Lightwood is a secret nerd, and Simon finds that _very_ appealing. In fact, it’s so appealing that he’s practically beaming as he takes his coffee to go and meet Jace, beaming so widely that he forgets his phone sitting on the counter, and Isabelle has to catch him up. Simon tries to apologise twice (all in one go) for interrupting her shift, but she won’t hear any of it - so much so that she gives him her number and tells him that they should hang out sometime so he can apologise then. 

It’s _almost_ a date. 

“Why are you always walking on fucking sunshine nowadays?” Jace grumbles when Simon arrives to help him set up for the drama department auditions, but Simon simply throws him another grin over his shoulder. 

The only thing that could make this day any better is another email from his stranger.

  
\-- x --

  
He gets said email three hours later, when he’s curled up at home in a threadbare Star Wars sweater and a mug of his favourite coffee.

It’s a standard message, all the usual witty conversation that makes warmth radiate in his chest, but then, right at the bottom of the page, he sees it.

 _that reminds me: the thing i wanted to tell you. i ran into someone today. perhaps i’m reading into this too much...perhaps this is just a huge coincidence...but i feel like i’ve met someone that the universe wants me to pay attention to._

Simon reads it. And then he reads it again.

Over, and over, and _over_ again. 

_Wait_.

  
\-- x --

  
After hearing Whitney Houston destroyed one too many times, Simon has come to accept that this Camille thing isn’t going to go away. 

Once upon a time, he wished, rather naively, that she would just forget about him, that she would just lose interest in him and move on to her next victim, but he hasn’t had much luck in that department so far. In fact, things seem to be going the opposite way; he even has Camille on speed dial now.

At least he has Isabelle to get him through it all.

They’ve been hanging out a lot lately, when Camille isn’t following him around with the constant threat of his emails, and Simon is pretty sure he can say that he’s truly found a kindred spirit. Trying to out-do each other with positive quotes in the middle of Waffle House at two AM pretty much confirmed it.

By the time he’s reading an email about how his stranger, inspired by their messages, wants to try coming out to their family, he’s practically sold. 

She has to be this stranger. She _has_ to be.

  
\-- x --

  
Two weeks and four encounters later, Simon finally knows Dark and Brooding’s real name. 

It’s pouring with rain as he leaves his late class for the night, and Simon is looking forward to just getting out of the current weather and driving in the downpour, even if he is going to run errands for his mom. 

He’s distracted on his way, however; this late hour means that the student lot is almost empty, save for the odd car here and there. One of them has the door flung wide open, as the owner tries to get the engine running. Simon sneaks a look as he goes past, and, yep, as the universe predicts, there is Dark and Brooding, drenched from the rain and glaring at his car that refuses to start. 

To be fair, Simon can’t exactly blame him for being mad about that. This is quite different from the printer.

Perhaps it isn’t the wisest idea to get himself involved. But, then again, Simon has never been someone who goes for the wise ideas.

“Hey!” He yells from his spot in the parking lot, three cars down from Dark and Brooding; the guy looks up at the sound of his voice. “You okay there?”

“Does it _look_ like it?”

“Car troubles?” Simon says, like it isn’t obvious already. Then: “Do you need a ride home?”

Dark and Brooding narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Simon shrugs. “Because the only other way you’re getting out of here is the subway during rush hour.”

Apparently, this is good enough evidence. Dark and Brooding slams his door, taking a moment to grab his books before he hurries over to Simon’s car. 

“Thank you,” he says, as Simon pulls out of the parking lot. It might be the calmest thing Simon has heard him say in, well, ever.

“No worries. Where do you want me to drop you?”

The address is halfway across town. Simon doesn’t think he can stand a twenty minute journey of uncomfortable silence, and so he nods towards the radio.

“You mind?” He asks, and Dark and Brooding gives a shrug, so he goes ahead and flicks the radio on, filling the car with the familiar sounds of Jerry Lee Lewis. It’s only when he glances to his right that he sees his passenger nodding along; he raises an eyebrow. “You know this?”

“Everyone knows this song,” Dark and Brooding replies, as if this in itself should have been obvious. Maybe he’s offended that Simon doesn’t think his music taste is any good. “Of course, the Gene Vincent version is much better.”

Simon pulls a face. “No way, man. Jerry Lee Lewis is clearly superior.”

Dark and Brooding scoffs. “Everything people like Jerry Lee Lewis did, people like Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps did before.”

Simon raises an eyebrow. He’s a musician more than he’s ever going to be an accountant, and this guy wants to sit and argue with him about music? _Sure_.

“Doesn’t mean the quality is any better. How do you know the song hasn’t improved as it’s been changed?”

“How do _you_ know that it has?”

“Well, for one thing, it isn’t Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps we’re listening to right now.”

“How paintings did Van Gough sell in his lifetime, again?”

“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about music, not painting.”

“Paintings, music - It’s all art, isn’t it?”

He has a point. A very valid one, actually.

“Touché.” It’s quiet for a moment, before: “I’m Simon, by the way.”

“Raphael.”

“Raphael,” Simon repeats, trying it out. 

It suits Dark and Brooding, he has to admit.

  
\-- x --

  
He ends up hanging out in the empty music studio during his free period whilst waiting for Clary, thinking about his conversation with Raphael. Simon might have an unwavering loyalty for Jerry Lee Lewis, but the Gene Vincent version of _be bop a lula_ isn’t half bad either, and he finds himself searching YouTube for how to play it on guitar. He can’t play as well as The Blue Caps did, back in the day, but even Simon can admit when he doesn’t sound terrible. And, right now, playing this song on guitar in the middle of an empty room, with only the walls to hear him, he doesn’t sound terrible. 

“You’re good at that.”

The song ends with an unhealthy twang as Simon jumps at the sudden sound of Raphael’s voice (but, then again, should he really be surprised? Fate is determined to push them together, after all.)

“Um -” Simon looks at the guitar, like he’s guilty just by having the object in his hand, and then back up at the doorway. “Thanks?”

And then Raphael smiles, a genuine, honest to god smile, and Simon nearly drops the fucking instrument altogether. Because this guy, Dark and Brooding, spends most of his time frowning when he has a smile like _that_? A smile that, honestly, should be illegal.

Perhaps Raphael isn’t as bad as Simon once thought.

 _sometimes_ , he writes in his email to his stranger - _Isabelle?_ \- that night, a reply to the update that coming out actually went pretty well, _i feel like looks can be deceiving._

 _i’ve half a mind to agree with you on that, lewis_.

\-- x --

  
The auditions for the drama department showcase come around; Simon is hanging around backstage because Camille has decreed it so, and it’s better to not argue with her. There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, she’s checking her already pristine reflection in the mirror, and Simon catches Raphael’s gaze as the latter rolls his eyes at the sight. _Of course_ he’s here, because how could he be anywhere else? It’s unfair how often Simon finds himself daydreaming about those eyes these days, especially when he knows he has his stranger, the thoughtful, caring individual who chooses their words carefully and every word is perfect, not just because it comes from them.

He’s done a lot of deliberating over this - the anonymity of the emails has felt good up until now, but god, he wants _more_ than that. He wants to look his stranger in the eye and feel those butterflies in person.

Isabelle’s backstage too - Simon invited her for emotional support, when it undoubtedly goes wrong for Camille and she looks for some fool to blame. At least if - when? - his emails get leaked, he can see his stranger for real, explain it all before everything blows up around them.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says when he finally finds Isabelle, peering out at the not unreasonable audience that have gathered to watch from behind the curtain.

“I didn’t think this many people would be interested,” Isabelle replies, and then sighs. She looks anxious about something, cheeks pink, fingers lacing and then unlacing again. "Simon? Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.”

“I just - I was gonna ask you the other day, and I couldn’t do it, but -” 

Isabelle flushes a darker red, and her eyes are suddenly looking everywhere but Simon, and Simon’s breath catches in his throat, because, holy shit, _is this a confession -- ?_

“What’s the deal with Clary?”

_Okay. Not expecting that._

“Huh?”

“What’s the deal with Clary?” Isabelle repeats, now looking towards the redhead in question, out with the rest of the reasonable crowd in the auditorium; Simon spots her as she slides into the seat next to Jace. “Like, are you two -?”

“No, no! We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” Isabelle looks to him with hope in her eyes now, and Simon’s stomach drops, suddenly, violently, because, oh god, _that hope is not for him_. “So - so she’s single, right?”

That hope in her eyes is for _Clary_.

He glances out into the audience, watching Clary as she laughs at some private joke with Jace. He’s never even considered the possibility that she swings that way - for best friends, they sure don’t talk about that kind of stuff very often.

“I don’t know,” Simon says lamely, before he clears his throat. He’s had this whole speech prepared - _I know it’s you sending the emails, it’s okay, do you fancy going out for a proper coffee sometime so I can tell you all about how you make me feel, even if I didn’t know your name until now?_ \- but now he can’t even think of one thing to say. It’s awkward; god, suddenly it’s so _awkward_. “I should, uh -”

Only now does Isabelle tear her attention away from Clary; she’s frowning slightly, confused, _concerned_. “Simon -?”

“I’m sorry, I really have to -”

He’s already walking away, heading towards the exit - he has to grab some air, even just think a little - when suddenly his path is blocked by Camille, and her face is very close to his, uncomfortably so.

“Going somewhere, caramel?”

A scary brunette holding blackmail over his head is the opposite of what he needs right now.

“I’m not doing this. I _can’t_ do this, I can’t listen to your _crap_ anymore -”

Camille’s eyes narrow. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

This is probably the bit where she expects him to start grovelling for forgiveness, in fear of her pulling up that aforementioned blackmail that’s always there in the back of his mind. But Simon can’t be dealing with it. _None of it_. His stranger is still just that, _a stranger_ , the person he thought it would be is actually in love with his best friend, and right now he feels a little like he’s being used and he’s tired. God, he’s so _tired_.

“I’ve had enough,” he says, and Camille honestly looks a bit surprised (probably, Simon reasons later, the people she blackmails don’t usually throw in the towel quite so early). “I’ve just - I’ve had enough.”

  
\-- x --

  
He hasn’t even made it through his front door before Camille blasts his private life all over the Internet, all over that stupid campus newspaper. To be honest, Simon’s not even surprised by this.

He’s only just made a coffee when he checks his phone; he's had it on silent on the way home, but it’s blowing up. There’s a series of texts and nearly ten missed calls from Clary.

They’ve all seen it.

  
\-- x --

  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Simon nearly winces at the question. It’s been nearly forty eight hours since the release of the emails, and he’s become something of a NYU celebrity. It’s not necessarily the fact that he’s pansexual that people care about - it’s him being _publicly outed_ that draws everybody’s attention to it.

“It never came up in conversation.”

Clary sucks in a breath. “We’ve been friends since we were _seven_ , Si. We tell each other everything. What made this so different? Did you think I was going to _judge_ you for something like this?”

“Of course not! But, Clary, it’s not that simple. Sometimes it’s harder to tell people you’ve known forever than it is to tell a complete stranger.”

 _Stranger_. His stranger, who hasn’t spoken to him since the information was leaked. They’re a student at NYU, so they had to have seen it, and freaked out. Simon has already tried emailing, trying to explain his side through lengthy paragraphs detailing how much he’s grown to care for them (dare he say, _love_ them) but the email simply reappeared in his inbox, undelivered. It shouldn’t feel like a break up, but, _fuck_ , it does.

“It’s not your choice when I come out,” he says aloud.

“I _know_ that,” Clary snaps, and then the fire in her eyes dies as quickly as it lives. “I just - You shouldn’t have had to go through it alone. I wanted to be there with you, Si.”

“You’re here now.” 

And it’s as simple as that. He watches as a small smile breaks out on Clary’s face, and she grasps his hand in hers.

“So,” she says. “Tell me all about this stranger you’re basically in love with.”

They’re going to be okay. Both of them.

  
\-- x --

  
He gets visits from the rest of their friends too. Jace drops by to study with him, because he still has assignments due and NYU doesn’t stop for the revelation that Simon Lewis is pansexual, and Magnus and Alec bring what appears to be a fruit basket in commiserations.

“Jace said you weren’t getting many vitamins, being cooped up in here on your own,” Magnus explains, as Simon helps himself to an apple. “I took it upon myself to make sure you’re keeping healthy.”

“You missed a lot today,” Alec says, perching on the end of the bed, with a slight smile on his face. “Clary decided to give Camille Belcourt a piece of her mind.”

“Oh, God.”

Magnus takes a seat next to Alec. “You see, Sheldon, once it became obvious that it was Camille that published your emails - although I should have come to that conclusion earlier, because this is _absolutely_ the sort of thing she would hold over someone - our dear biscuit thought that something had to be done about it.”

“I wasn’t there for all of it,” Alec adds. “I got there around the _it’s Simon’s choice who he tells and how he comes out, and you fucking took that away from him, you bitch_ part, but, from what I could tell, it had been going on for a while. Of course, she’s right, so I left her to do as she pleased until she started trying to throw punches.”

Simon wonders if he should feel more guilty about this - and then decides that he likes the warm feeling he gets at the knowledge that his best friend is looking out for him better than he likes the feeling of guilt.

  
\-- x --

  
The day before he comes back to classes, Simon writes his own article for the stupid campus newspaper.

 _tell camille it’ll make the best headlines she’s ever had_ , he writes in his email to Magnus as he sends it off.

Now all he has to do is hope that his stranger sees it in time.

  
\-- x --

  
Simon’s head is starting to spin from too many rides on this stupid ferris wheel. 

Originally, he thought that the idea of him meeting his stranger on the carnival ferris wheel would be quite poetic, almost romantic - he is intending to meet the person that’s essentially stolen his heart, after all - but perhaps he should have considered the fact that heights have always made him a little queasy _before_ he had broadcast his plans in an article that made the front page of the campus newspaper. He’s seemed to have attracted quite a crowd because of this; Clary, Jace, and Alec are obviously there, supporting him on the front lines, along with Isabelle, who had wrapped him up in a warm hug the moment she saw him after the whole email debacle.

 _You’re gonna do great_ , she’d whispered, a last little piece of encouragement just before Simon climbed onto the ride, and, in his heart, Simon had been sure that she was right. 

Now he isn’t so sure. He’s been here for what feels like hours, and no one has stepped forward; they’re all just watching, like pack animals, waiting to rip him apart with condolences when it becomes clear that things like this don’t work out outside of the movies.

The ride slows to a stop, and the blond carnival worker turns to face the large group of students come to watch Simon’s hopeless romantic endeavours. “ Anyone else?”

Simon waits with baited breath. No one steps forward.

“Simon, it’s me!” Jace yells suddenly into the silence.

“No, it’s _not_ , you jerk,” Clary says, turning around to hit him on the shoulder.

“Well, someone’s gotta say something, Clary! Look at the poor guy!”

“ _Hey -_ ” Simon waves to catch their attention “- I’m not deaf, you guys.”

“Last call for the ferris wheel!”

For a moment, there’s just quiet murmurs of sympathy from the onlookers, and Simon’s heart nearly drops down into his stomach --

\-- until suddenly, the crowd parts, and there is Magnus, dragging a rather frazzled looking individual behind him, and proudly proclaiming “I have a volunteer!” at the top of his lungs.

The stranger looks up, and Simon would know those eyes anywhere. 

_What the hell is this?_

“I’m, uh - I’m kind of waiting for someone here, Magnus.”

Raphael rolls his eyes, but Magnus simply gives him an encouraging shove forward. “Time to stop waiting, Samuel.”

Simon looks to Raphael again - Raphael, who is avoiding his gaze and looking anywhere but him - and then it clicks.

Oh. _Oh._

The girl operating the ferris wheel huffs. “Dude, last _last_ call. You getting on or not?”

It’s like someone has suddenly shocked Raphael back to life; he moves to take the seat beside Simon, and then they’re strapped in and off into the air.

“You made it,” Simon says.

“Barely.” Raphael nods towards Magnus, watching from the ground with his arm wrapped tightly around Alec. “He was insistent that I wasn’t going to miss you.”

Simon makes a mental note to buy Magnus some kind of expensive gift as a thank you. “Right.” He wets his damp lips. All this time he’s thought about this moment, meeting the stranger who has his affections, and now it’s _here_ and they can’t even look at each other. “So, it’s you, huh?”

“Yeah.” He can feel Raphael giving him a sideways glance. “Are you disappointed?”

Simon turns to face him then. “God, no. Are you?”

Raphael finally looks at him too. _Damn_ , those eyes; you could really get lost in them, Simon thinks, a little bit dazed.

“No.”

“Get on with it!” Jace yells from the ground below, and both Isabelle and Clary shush him, but it might as well be from a million miles away. Simon isn’t paying them any attention.

“I think -” He clears his throat. “I think I really want to kiss you.”

Those brooding eyes widen slightly in surprise for a moment, and then Raphael’s mouth lifts into a smile.

“I think you should get on with it, then.”

And Simon does just that.

**Author's Note:**

> the eternal question: jerry lee lewis or gene vincent?


End file.
